


I Just Want Everything She's Got

by BuckytheDucky



Series: CapIM Bingo [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 18:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckytheDucky/pseuds/BuckytheDucky
Summary: Tony's got a lid on it, he really does. Sure, he falls to pieces when he's alone because she has Steve, and all Tony wants is to be her, have the same chances with Steve that she does. But Tony can absolutely keep himself pulled together as long as Steve is happy. Except... He really, really can't.





	I Just Want Everything She's Got

Tony stares from across the room, the edge of the bar digging into his side; he watches the way the woman's hand slips lower on Steve's back, brushing against the perfect swell of his ass, as he raises the champagne flute in response to whatever the Army general is saying. Laughs are shared, and the woman's hand presses tighter into Steve's skin. Her rings glimmer under the fancy lighting, stones large enough to do some damage if she were to throw a punch. Not that Tony really expects her to. This is a high-profile, expensive charity gala for ー well, for whatever organisation the Maria Stark Foundation decided on. Tony isn't necessarily sure, but he can't find it in him to care. Not when Steve isn't blushing a bright red at the woman's touches. Not when Tony's entire brain is focused on that small hand on a broad back, only mere inches from the most perfect ass Tony has ever seen, and _why isn't Steve blushing or brushing her off?_

Objectively, Tony knows the woman is attractive, with her long dark hair pulled into an extravagant bun and the gentle curls draping from the mass, and her big, brown eyes expertly lined and her long lashes curled, thickened, and lengthened by just enough mascara. Her dress is doing her body so many favours, her curves on display by the gown that clings and gives in all the right ways. So yeah, she's beautiful, and Tony doesn't even know her name, but he hates her.

He hates her because of reasons he really doesn't want to get into, but mostly he hates that she's with Steve when she doesn't deserve Steve.

The music starts up again, and Tony swallows down the rest of his scotch as Pepper sidles up to his side. She wrinkles her nose at his now-empty glass but doesn't remark on it. He sets the tumbler on the glass and turns to face her fully.

“Would you care for a dance, Ms Potts?”

Her blue eyes narrow, scrutinising him closely. “Of course, Mister Stark.”

Dancing with Pepper feels...not quite right, but familiar, easy. So he lets himself get lost in the motions, in the feeling of Pepper held closely, in the scent of her perfume, even as his eyes keep flicking back toward Steve and his date. Natasha catches his eye from where she's twirling gracefully with some congressman, and he recognises that gleam in her eye. He forces a smile, focuses back on Pepper.

“Why don't you just talk to him?”

“Don't know what you're talking about. Nobody to talk to, nothing to talk about.”

“Tony…”

“I promise, Pep, I'd talk if I had something to say.”

She doesn't believe him ー she never does, she's too smart for that ー but she stays quiet, just gives him that look like she can see right through him. With a heavy sigh that does nothing to dim the smile she's wearing, mostly for the show of it, so no one knows just how done she is with Tony's bullshit, she lets him lead her in a smooth, graceful arc across the dancefloor. They twirl and spin and waltz for three more songs before Tony has had enough, he needs to get out of here. He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek, leads her toward Natasha, and passes Pepper off with a “Be home by midnight, or you're grounded” that sounds flat and awkward, even to his own ears.

Steve is still here, off to the side, talking to… someone. Someone important, Tony guesses, judging by the way he's maintaining eye contact and hasn't taken a sip of champagne in over a minute. Natasha taught Steve that method ー take a sip of his drink anytime his conversation partner smiles or laughs, and they'll start to associate the happy feeling with Steve and they're more likely to give over money or do what Steve is asking of them. It's a simple con, but one that's worked for as long as humanity has had the desire to con for what they want. But the discussion Steve is having now is serious, and he's not going to try to diminish that seriousness with neuro-linguistic tricks.

Tony wants to go over, mostly just to put himself between Steve and that damn woman, the one who's still touching him, but he decides not to. Tony can be mature. He can. So he merely heads for the door; he doesn't even stop by the bar for one last drink, which is…that's progress. Pausing by the door to send a quick message to Happy, he stares through the archway at the crowd gathered inside the ballroom, dancing and talking and drinking their fancy little drinks. No one seems to have noticed he's gone, and he isn't sure whether that hurts or not. His phone vibrates once in his hand, and he glances down to see Happy’s one-word message: _Here_.

Cameras flash, blinding and rapid, and Tony gives them his best smile, ignores how it suddenly feels so wrong on his face. Thankfully, it doesn't take long for him to walk the gauntlet, ignoring the questions being shouted at him along the way, and he's sliding into the backseat of the limo in a few short minutes. The drive back to the tower is uneventful, quiet, and Tony watches as buildings and people pass outside of the window. Happy pulls into the underground garage, idles by the elevator, and Tony waves him off and steps out on his own. He doesn't board the lift until the limo has disappeared from sight, most likely heading back to the gala for the rest of the team.

“Welcome home, sir.”

“Thanks, J,” Tony responds, smiling, as he undoes his cufflinks with a flick of deft fingers. “Any problems while Daddy was gone?”

“No, sir. The fabrication units have completed the tasks given to them, and U and Butterfingers are in their charging stations.”

“And DUM-E?”

“He is as he always is, I'm afraid.”

“Fantastic!”

The elevator comes to a stop on the workshop floor, and Tony enters the room with little trepidation. No matter what damage the bot has done, Tony knows he can fix DUM-E's mistakes. Tony feels a weight on his shoulders lessen at the whirring of wheels on concrete, and he turns to see DUM-E heading straight for the blender. A smile splits his face as he heads for the workbench.

At least here, he can ignore the tiny, nagging voice in his head that is wondering what Steve is up to, and if he's going to sleep with that woman.

 

 

… … … … 

 

 

Tony comes to a stop just inside the kitchen, staring around at the scene in front of him. Bruce is standing at the island counter and dicing up bell peppers; Natasha sits at the table with a book and a mug of tea, ignoring everyone as she reads, though how she's ignoring Clint's yelps of pain when Bruce smacks his hand with the flat of his knife is...it's a miraculous feat. Maybe she's just used to it, Tony doesn't know, but it's plausible considering how long the two SHIELD agents have known each other and just how easily and often Clint manages to do something dumb to injure himself. Sam leans tiredly against the refrigerator, and Tony bites back the urge to scold the man for drinking straight from the gallon of orange juice. Who even does that, who drinks right out of the bottle that’s meant to be shared? Steve ー _Steve_ ー is whisking eggs in a large bowl, the sound of metal against plastic slightly grating but still so familiar, the muscles in his shoulder and back rippling underneath the shirt he's wearing, and he's got his face turned to the right, smiling a soft, little smile that's melted on the edges with every positive emotion he could possibly be feeling right now, smiling that smile that Tony would kill to see but instead it's, it's aimed at…

The woman from last night.

She's dressed in threadbare cotton shorts, possibly leftovers from when Pepper still lived in the tower, or maybe they're loaners from Natasha, and one of Steve's shirts, one of the ones that Clint had bought him as a gag gift for his last birthday, Tony can't see the logo but he recognises the ugly salmon colour and the way the neckline starts to dip in a sharp V. She looks thrilled to be here, she looks like she belongs at Steve's side, and isn't that just a kick in the teeth He sucks in a harsh breath at the tightening sensation in his throat, the taste of bile and something unidentifiable rising up his esophagus, at the way his vision dims just slightly and goes grey at the edges.

Of course Steve hears him, because he's turning around to flash Tony a wide grin, completely unaware of anything else happening outside of his bubble of love and happiness and “my life is so awesome right now”, and Tony barely manages to not trip over his feet as he scurries backwards, back out of the kitchen. He doesn't run, that would be absolutely undignified, but if his strides are longer, quicker, well, no one's going to call him out on it. He gasps out an order for JARVIS as the elevator doors close; he doesn't even know where he's going, but anywhere other than the kitchen and all its domesticity is good enough.

The sharp scent of motor oil and electrical wires filters through the awful haze in his head, and Tony gulps down air and avoids thinking about the roiling, churning of his stomach. He drops down to sit on the couch in the corner, stares blankly at the floor. After a moment of struggling to get his bearings, he fumbles for his phone, the screen lighting up under his thumb and scanning, unlocking with a quiet click.

_I think I'm dying what do I do_

_“Tony?”_

“Youーyou weren't supposed to call, Sourpatch, texting is fine, it's what all the kids are doing these days, why are you calling?”

_“Probably because I got a text from my best friend saying he thinks he's dying. What's going on?”_

“I… I don't know. I just, Rhodey, god, I can't stand it.”

_“I need words here, Tones, actual words. You can't stand what?”_

“Seeing him.”

_“Ah, him, the elusive him who I have absolutely no idea about because someone doesn't talk to me any more since he decided to become roommates with a team of superheroes.”_

“Ste-Steve. Things were fine, hell, they were great, then last night, I dunno, I just want to punch him in his perfect teeth.”

_“Okay, you're making very little sense, less than usual, actually, so, uh, just sit tight, okay? I’ll be there in an hour.”_

“It's fine, Rhodey, I'm fine.”

There's no response, which, that's not unexpected. Rhodey knows Tony, knows that Tony will deflect and the best way to stop that is to hang up without giving him a chance to actually argue the point. Tony lets his phone fall to the seat beside him and rest his head on the back of the couch.

“Sir, Agent Romanov is inquiring about your status.”

“Tell her I'm fine.”

“Stop having your AI lie to me, Stark,” Natasha’s voice says over the speakers.

“I'm fine.”

“Right, I'm sure you are. But I have a Widow's Bite here that needs some work. Can I come down?”

“Uh, sure.” _Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Romanov_ he thinks but doesn't say. “Door's open.”

His head rolls on his neck at the quiet echo of her feet on concrete. Her toenails are pale purple, nearly white, and he isn't sure why he notices that but he does, he fixates on the soft splash of colour on her pale feet. Those lilac splotches near, and he still can't drag his gaze away. Natasha stops in front of him; he finally jerks his focus away from her toes to see her standing there, her head tilted, red curls falling around her face. Her green eyes are big, Disney-like, and there's something unreadable in their depths. Her lips thin as she holds her hand out, showing him a Bite that's broken around the edges. She doesn't try to hand it to him, thank gods, Tony doesn't think he can bear having to take it from her, not with the way he's feeling already.

They don't speak while he shoves himself to his feet, crosses the workshop to the table, and pulls out his tools. She is silent during the repairs, but her presence is steadying and welcome. Tony may possibly drag out the work, just to not have her go, not yet. But he'll never admit that. Not even to himself.

Rhodey joins them just as Tony is finishing up connecting wires, and Tony leans into the heavy, comforting hand on his shoulder. Natasha takes her weapon, gives Tony a smile and a _thank you_. He watches her go, her white-purple nails flashing through the air with each step, until she's gone. Rhodey sits on the stool she's just vacated and stares at Tony.

“What's going on, Tones?”

And Tony can't ever really avoid answering when Rhodey uses that tone. So he lets it out in a bumbling, rambling mess of words, none of which makes sense to himself at all, but evidently, it makes enough sense for Rhodey, because he doesn't question further.

“Tony, you need to talk to Steve.”

“About what? There's nothing to talk about, Rhodey, especially not to Steve.”

“Just… try, try to figure out whatever is going through that damn head of yours and talk to him.”

“Do you and Pepper have meetings where you plan what you're going to say to me? Because she said that same thing.”

“Well, Pepper is a smart lady, and I may not be a genius like you, but I like to think I'm pretty intelligent, so maybe we're on to something, you just gotta, ya know, listen to us.”

The woman is still there at dinner. She sits to Steve's left, between Steve and Clint, across the table from where Tony usually sits. Tony debates ducking out of the dining area, but it's too late. Sam has already seen him and is pulling the chair out for Tony to sit. This action causes everyone to notice Tony, and he doesn't have any choice. He steels himself like he's heading to the gallows, drops down onto his seat, and wishes he had alcohol to deal with this. Rhodey follows and sits next to Natasha like the traitor he is, but Tony can't really blame him. Clint tends to try to start food fights most nights of the week, Sam, well, Sam is okay, and Bruce and Tony usually talk to each other about various topics all relevant to science, so of course Rhodey would want someone to talk to that wouldn't be wrapped up in discussion of polymers, genetics, and biochemistry. Thor isn't around, which is understandable ー Jane is in town giving a conference speech about Einstein-Rosen bridges, and Thor hates to miss any chance to listen to her. He has been very adamant about his love of Jane and her brilliance. And Tony's glad the man's got someone to love. Seriously. Couldn't have happened to anyone better.

Halfway through dinner, Tony lets his fork fall to his plate and stands. Conversations stop abruptly, and he studiously avoids meeting Steve's gaze. He forces a smile, carries his plate to the sink, and drops it in with a loud clatter. He can't see where he's going, not really, but he designed this entire building, he knows the routes even without sight. So he breezes past the rest of the team ー and one hanger-on ー and makes his way to his living quarters. The silence there echoes, weighs on him, and he _hates_ it. Out of nowhere, he hates that he couldn't make Pepper happy enough to stay, couldn't convince her that he was worth her time and her attention and her love. He despises that he couldn't be enough for her. Not without giving up the biggest part of him since Afghanistan.

And he really, really, _really_ loathes the sappy fucking smile on Steve's face whenever he looks at that woman.

 

 

____________

 

 

It all comes to a boil eventually, because isn't that the way it always goes? Someone's content with ignoring their feelings, keeping everything tucked away in a neat little box that has an enormous sign saying “Do Not Open ー Contents Under Pressure”, and life goes on until it doesn't. Until they're rocked out of their routine of wake up, pity themself for about an hour, drink enough coffee to severely diminish the stock of the nearest hundred Starbucks shops, then don a mask and pretend everything is hunky dory, just peachy.

To be fair, Tony figures it was bound to happen, and he's only surprised that it took six months for Steve to corner him and demand an explanation. Six long months of swallowing down bitterness and something that definitely isn't jealousy, every time Steve and Delilah, of course that's her name, were together and Tony stumbled across them. Six months of forcing himself not to flinch or flee whenever Steve mentioned date after date after date Then he'd had to start pretending that he was thrilled when Steve didn't come back to the tower for days at a time, showing up randomly looking sated and blissed out in a way that only comes from one place, and it isn't anywhere but a bed (unless one happens to be an exhibitionist, then that's a different story). Tony wasn't sure exactly when, but it started feeling a lot like the tower was merely a place to visit for Steve, now, like he didn't even live with them any more.

But now Tony's staring down at the large hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping him in place, and he's nearly choking on his tongue as he tries to think of something, _anything_ , to say that isn't reminiscent of a pop-punk song by a woman from Canada. Honestly, “I don't like your girlfriend” just sounds so petty and immature, and Tony is completely mature. So his brain races to latch onto words, and Steve is staring down at him with that pinched look around his eyes, his lips a thin line on his face, and Tony can't say anything.

“The least you could do, Tony, is be happy that I'm finally finding something to be happy about in this century,” Steve says softly minutes later after it becomes apparent that Tony isn't going to speak, as he releases Tony's hand, turning away and heading for the door, and Tony panics.

“Then be happy with me.”

Steve stops suddenly, but he doesn't turn around. He stands there with tight shoulders. Tony aches to touch him, but he won't let himself be the first to make a move. Not after that. He closes his eyes, drops his chin to his chest, and waits.

“What.”

The whisper is quiet enough that Tony could pretend he didn't hear it. He could act like nothing was said, go back to working and keeping Steve off his mind (which never really works, Steve is always there). He could, but he won't. So he inhales unsteadily, wishing he was anywhere else but here, and clenches a hand into a fist to stop himself from tapping his fingers against the arc reactor in his chest. Well, in for a penny and all that…

“I… I don't like her. I don't. I'm sure she's a lovely lady, I mean, after all, _you're_ dating her, so she can't be a bad person or anything, and she's definitely beautiful, and I know you're not dating her just for her looks. You have standards, I'm, I'm well-aware of that, so don't think I'm trying to imply that you objectify her or anything, because I'm not. But… Steve, I really don't like her. I hate that you're with her. I hate seeing you happy because you're happy with her. If you weren't with her, I'd be okay with you being happy, but you are with her, and ー and I hate it.”

Steve finally turns to face Tony, and God, that expression on his face is enough to kill Tony. Steve isn't happy now, so point to the genius who couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. Tony gives up holding back on his impulse and allows his fingers to _thunk thunk thunk_ on the casing, and the rhythm is sporadic, inharmonious, and the motions aren't as soothing or comforting as they were before. He watches Steve closely, focuses on the tightness around his eyes, the way his lips purse just that much more, the way his chest rises and falls with rapid breaths.

“Why now, Tony? Why wait until now to say anything?”

“Because…”

“‘Because’ isn't a reason.”

“Because I didn't want to admit that I was fucking jealous, okay? I didn't want to get my hopes up about anything, because guess what, it never really works for me, ever. I got my hopes up about Pepper, and look what happened. She walked out. I got my hopes up about the green energy initiative, and oh, I damn near died for it. I… I couldn't get my hopes up about you because it would kill me to have to lose whatever of you that I can get.” Tony swipes a hand across the surface of his workbench, sending tablets and mugs and various odds and ends to their demise on the floor; the sight of broken porcelain and glass and bits of metal isn't a comforting one, it's too close to symbolism for the way he's feeling, maelstrom of overwhelming emotions that he can't make sense of. “I didn't want you to see, to really look and see exactly what a mess I am, because I can't even be happy that you're in a relationship with someone who is actually good for you, because I am so damn far from that, it's way past 'not funny’ and now somewhere in the 'wow, this is fucked up how not funny this is’ territory.”

Silence, oppressive and choking, settles on the workshop, and Tony continues to stare at the mess on the concrete. Old coffee dredges slither along like a black, liquid snake, winding a path away from the centre of the wreckage. He aches with the force of his confession, the damning nature of Steve not saying anything.

“Just… Forget it. Go on, go be with Delilah, get married and have lots of babies. Make sure to tell me, or well, tell Pepper, where you're registering so I, and by 'I’, I mean she, can send you the most expensive thing on the list. Let's just pretend this conversation never happened.”

“No.”

Tony's eyes flutter shut, and he grits his teeth to keep from shouting. “Steve, please, I, I don't think I have it in me to keep going through this. I'll be fine, I promise, I'll be fine once I get over this, and I will. I'm Tony Stark. I get over everything. Nothing ever matters enough for me _not_ to.”

“That's bullshit, and you know it.”

“Dollar in the swear jar,” quips Tony quietly, aiming for a joke and missing by a few million miles.

“You owe way more than I do, so don't try that,” responds Steve. His footsteps echo slightly as he crosses the room and sits on the stool next to Tony. “I think we need to talk about this.”

“What's there to talk about? God, the déjà vu, I swear. Look, Steve, I never should've said something, really, I know this. I know you're with her, and… As much as it hurts, even I can admit you guys are a good-looking couple. I really should have kept this to myself, not made this awkward. I ー”

“Really should stop speaking for me now.”

Tony mimes zipping his lips together and throwing away the key. A ghost of a smile flickers across Steve's face, but it's here and gone in seconds, almost too quick for Tony to see, but he watches Steve too much to not notice any change in his facial expressions. Steve sighs, his hand reaching out and gently picking up one of Tony's.

“I wish you'd told me sooner, Tony. I wish I'd seen how much my relationship with Delilah was hurting you. I never meant to cause you any kind of pain.”

“I know, Steve, this isn't your fault. It's mine for thinking ー”

“You think too much.”

And holy mother of everything perfect in this world, that's Steve's mouth on his, warm and gentle and breathtaking in its simplicity. Tony freezes, his brain going fuzzy with shock and seemingly stuck on an endless loop of _Oh god, Steve's kissing me holy shit_ , and then he tentatively pushes closer. That seems to be what Steve was waiting for, if the way the kiss turns harder and more insistent is any indication. He slides one hand up Tony's arm to cradle his jaw, tilts his head to slot their mouths more firmly together, and Tony’s lips part on a soft sigh. There are no fireworks behind his closed eyelids, the world doesn't flip upside down, and his foot doesn't pop up from the ground, but Tony doesn't care.

Because this feels like coming home to the workshop after a long day. This feels like dinner with the team, full of laughing and talking and even the food fights. This feels like hours in the living room, lounging on sunken couches with Steve pressed tightly to his right side while a movie plays on the screen and all Tony can focus on is the comforting heat and scent of _Steve_. This feels like nothing Tony has ever had before, not even with Pepper, and he'd thought he'd loved her more than anything or anyone, though he was so wrong. This is everything Tony has never known he wanted, dreams he had never had coming true in the slow slide of their lips.

“What about Delilah?” he whispers when they finally part for air, regardless of the fact he wants nothing less than to ask about her.

“We've been over for a while,” Steve whispers back. “There was someone else that was getting in the way of our relationship, and it wasn't fair to either of us.”

“Me?”

“You.”

Tony can feel Steve's smile when he leans back in for another kiss.


End file.
